


Thunder

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Rings, Collars, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Dominance, Established Relationship, Father/Son Incest, Handcuffs, M/M, Malfoycest, Oral, PWP, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody loves cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

She’s mesmerized by the sudden bolt of lightning; I take the opportunity to pluck the cherry from your slice and pop it into my mouth.

Oh, not that simple, of course. I place it on my tongue, and flutter my lashes down, and hold it in my teeth while I gently tug the stem off. I hold my mouth open for a second before sucking it slowly in, tongue curling, and make sure to grin in your direction. You know, all that good, cliché, movie shit. You know you love it. My spoon makes a move for your icing—but no, she’s back.

“Sorry, dear, what were you saying?”

You turn to her with that blank look on your face. Not empty, I mean, just unreadable. But then, you always look like that. To me, to her... I suppose it helps keep us from competing. “Hm?” You repeat, as though the window was the one to capture your attention. In any case, you shoot a quick glance there to waft off that impression. “Oh, nothing important. Just another ministry fiasco. ...But really, what’s gotten into this weather?”

“I know, it was so lovely this morning...” And she stares sideways again.

Of course I seize the chance to steal the top layer of your melted sugar-chocolate. You make no move to stop me. With an elegantly leisured pace, my tongue makes its way up the metal, flattened and spreading out, and hopefully making you think of... other things. You push your plate forward a little. I go in for another scoop.

“Draco, stop stealing your father’s cake.”

Mother slaps my hand away and my nose wrinkles. Damnit. Back to slumping back in my chair and pretending to listen. Arms crossed. I’m the pouting type. (Light washes instantaneously over our faces.)

“Anyway, I received an owl fro—” A sudden crack of thunder interrupts her sentence, followed by another flash of light, foreshadowing more sound. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she begins, as the downpour starts. It’s all a dull roar—we have to speak louder. “This is giving me a headache.”

For a moment you look genuinely concerned. (I’m not; it’s just a headache.) But she touches her forehead and you know she’s had too much wine for this. The rain outside is indeed picking up, and soon the shadows that cast over us are noticeably more rapid and deafening. “Perhaps you should retire early.”

“No, no.” She shakes her head. Then smiles. (This is where my patience runs thin. I know, I know—I’m so spoiled. But I can’t have your attention off me for another second, and I gently move my foot forward until it hits yours. Mother sits next to me, and your eyes dart over.) “My son asked for a special cake to celebrate his first day back, and I want to enjoy it with him.”

“Oh, Mother,” I instantly jump in, climbing your leg with my foot until I reach your chair. I rest my heel on it and press my toes to your crotch. You’re already bulging and I know you want me. ...But Mother’s still watching, and I turn to her, all honey and kisses. “I didn’t mean anything too fancy—just a cake from my favourite chef in the world for dessert. And you more than delivered.” I take a bite of my own piece, meaning it. “This is absolutely delicious.” And lavish. It was shaped like a sleeping dragon before we carved it all up, with chocolate chip eyes and candy corn nails. It even gave a puff of fire before settling down for us to eat it: the beauty of magic things. My mother is a talented woman. We Malfoys... go to great lengths for each other.

She beams. “What a sweet son I have.” She ruffles my hair; I let her. She looks over at you. “Aren’t we lucky?”

“Yes,” you answer, slowly. I’m rubbing soft circles and applying light pressures. Lick the leftover crumbs off my lips and take my time. How are you staying so stubbornly coherent? My eyes are two smoldering signals. “Lucky.”

Another crash. She touches her forehead. Holds it again. “Mother, are you sure you’re alright? You look... a little ill.”

She sighs. “Well, these things happen.” A pause of consideration, and she combs three fingers down her silken hair, red lips in a straight line. Another sigh. She’s looking over at you, and you’re looking at her, with a worried look on your face; she looks thoughtful. “It’s nothing really, I’ve simply had a little too much to drink. And all this sugar—it’s no good for me. Perhaps... I will take my leave.”

“We’ll miss you,” I half joke, simply to lighten the mood. She leans over and lands a peck on my forehead.

“Good night, Love,” you murmur, and she leans across the table to press her lips to yours—you lean forward to meet her. (Momentarily I draw my foot back to let you.) She collects and places down her cutlery, and stands, and you say, “No, don’t worry about it. We’ll take care of the dishes—you just take care of yourself.” And she grins.

And another clap sounds in the background; she winces and leaves. Mother always did have a weak stomach for unpleasantness. A light-weather woman. A strong woman in other areas, but she has her moments of frailty. We Malfoys are complicated creatures. I wait for her soft footsteps to die out with distance, the grand diner doors slowly creaking to a close in her absence. And then I turn to you, all starry-eyed and smirking. The crashing waves in the background only further my hunger to cause our own racket.

You’re smirking right back. My spoon climbs back to my tongue. “I think...” I purr, “I might need a little more... icing.”

“Oh, really?” Haphazardly your left hand knocks your fork off the table—I graciously climb out of my chair to retrieve it. On all fours I duck under the table—crawling to your knees and ignoring your fork. Your legs are already spaced apart enough for me to climb between them, and you lift the tablecloth up, folding it out of the way, so you can stare down at my wicked little smirk. You’re not going to last so long, next time. You’re not going to want to.

I place a soft kiss to your cotton pants, before splaying out my tongue and drawing it slowly up your fly. Bulging indeed. I can’t help but sneak a glance upwards, locking on to your lust-clouded eyes. But my attention quickly falls back again; I catch your zipper in my teeth and draw it down. I want to see you, I need to touch you. You’re coming out now and my fingers can’t work fast enough. When I free you, you’re huge—but you always look that way—even more so when you’re this close to my face, hard as a rock and tipped purple, smelling thickly of musk and deliciously dripping of precum.

My tongue darts out to catch it, lapping up every drop it can get. Up and down the veins I go, tracing circles around the head and slipping across the slit, down to your balls which I draw into my mouth, sucking and massaging and kissing. I move back to the throbbing mushroom head and wrap my lips around it. You’re breathing heavily in the background. My eyes are half-lidded and my pants are too tight, and your liquid’s already dripping down my chin: I want it pooling at my knees and rushing down my throat.

But I intend to draw this out as long as I can, enjoying every second. I keep licking and tasting and blowing soft kisses. Then I swallow the tip and hollow out my cheeks, not moving, just tasting. Until your fingers run down my cheek and grip at my chin, jerking me back and up to see your stern face. “Draco,” you breathe, voice low and laboured and husky even as I move back, “don’t make Daddy wait, or he’ll have to spank you.” I moan around your cock at the promise; I want your hand on my ass and I want it _now_. But you aren’t waiting for an answer—your hand moves to my hair and you make a fist in the blond strands. I go still and wait for your guidance. (But my mouth does open wide.)

There’s a pause before you suddenly jerk me forwards, gagging me on your cock until my lips are stretched and I can’t go any further—you’ve hit the back of my throat and there are tears in my eyes. I’m struggling to breathe through my nose and crawl down further. I want to suck you to your base and have you all in my mouth. But you’re so damn big, and so long and so wide, and it takes a lot of patience and talent to get there. I didn’t used to be able to do this, but when I blushingly look up again you’re smiling your approval, and it’s worth it. “Good boy,” you mutter, petting my hair. Then you grip my head again and command me to, “Suck,” which I instantly do in earnest, hollowing out my cheeks even more. I suck and blow and use my tongue as much and as hard as I can, moaning in the back of my throat and trying so hard not to touch myself. You don’t like it when I do that, and I’m saving myself for you.

I’m bobbing up and down and enjoying every second, closing my eyes, then watching you, then closing again, whimpering around your huge dick and burying my nose in your blond curls. You make me so hard; you taste so good; you make me _want you so much_. Do you know that I thought of you every night I spent at school, and screamed your name when I came? Oh, but of course you do... I took pictures to send to you, dressed up in collars and lingerie, spread open and begging. I missed you when I was there, and it’s so _good_ to be home.

My pace builds up, your breathing’s heavy. Everything goes into it, up and down, lick/suck/touch, I want you so bad, have to have you, this harried frenzy washes over me like always and takes over everything as I _begbegbeg_ you to come down my throat—

And then suddenly you’re exploding in my mouth. I shudder and open wide, drinking down every bit that I can, but then you’re pulling out and spraying my face, and I close my eyes and turn on instinct. It gets on my cheek, and in my hair, and drapes over the bridge of my nose. It’s tumbling out of my lips and I instantly jump forward to lap at your cock, adding a few more sucks to milk you dry and licking up the mess. I’m holding out my hands under my face, and when your dick’s completely dry, I tilt my cupped hands to my mouth and drink up what I caught—I want as much of you as I can. It’s salty but delicious—it’s you and I want it all over me. You’re looking down at me with hazy wide eyes—that crazy look you always get before you ravish me. I smile at the promise and rub my face in your crotch to get you hard gain, then dart my tongue out to anywhere I may have gotten your seed. My blood’s rushing and my heart’s racing—it’s all going one place and I’m trembling.

Before I can put up any more of a show, you’re demanding, “Draco. Get up, now,” and when I’m not quite fast enough, you jerk me up by the neck, throwing me against the table and standing. I’m reasonably tall now, but you’re still bigger than me and you dominate the space. I stay where you tossed me and watch your animal eyes, panting so hard my chest might burst. It’s down against the wood surface of our dining table, ass up in the air. “Merlin,” you drawl, “What a beautiful boy I have.” Followed by a trademark Malfoy smirk. “And such a naughty little imp...”

“Yes, Daddy,” I moan, rocking my hips against the table edge. I only ever call you _Daddy_ when you have me like this. When you have me in this little game, where I’m a bad little boy that needs to be punished. “I’m so naughty...”

“Hm,” you sigh, hand rubbing over my ass. I press up into your hand, balanced on my toes, torso pressed into the tablecloth like the greedy, wanton thing I am. “So it seems.... Well, we’ll just have to make this a tad harder for you.”

And with a sudden flick of your wand, (when did you get that out?) my hands are handcuffed together above my head, chained into the table, and my clothes are gone and I’m wearing that collar. That special one you had ordered from the pet store—engraved with my name and with a loop for a leash. I shiver in the cold air, feeling only slightly humiliated with the knowledge that you’re still fully clothed, and raking hungry eyes over my fully bare form. But I’m yours, to do with what you will, and you can look at me all you like, so long as you finally just _touch me_.

As if reading my thoughts you chuckle, “Oh yes...” And I feel a cock ring suddenly tighten around the base of my cock, trapped between my stomach and the table, making me groan. “That’s much better. Wouldn’t want you coming before you’ve properly pleased your master.”

“Daddy, please,” I whine, bucking against the wood as much as the handcuffs allow. Where are they even attached to? The table? You’re so good with your wand. I’m rubbing my peaked nipples raw, but I welcome the friction. I’m bouncing in the space between the table, unable to keep still. “Fuck me... please, please fuck me senseless!” I’m not very articulate like this, not when the words actually leave my lips, anyway—I can’t think straight. I’m thinking takemetakemetakeme, bite my neck and _makemeyours_. I want to scream your name and feel your huge cock inside me, ramming in and out and making me slide against the table. I want your seed dripping down my legs, sloshing inside me and drizzling me feet. “Come all over me, Daddy!” I beg, voice a husky, needy, moaning and panting mess. “I want you inside me, now, please fuck me!”

You fist my hair again and jerk me up, neck arching and bending backwards. You laugh. “Such a little cockwhore I’ve turned you into!” Finally, I hear the click of your belt—you’re taking it off. A rustle—a heavy thunk—your robes have hit the floor. “Have you been dying for me all year, or were you sucking off all your housemates and wishing they could please you like I can?”

A little bit of both. Sometimes I let Flint slam me into the Quidditch lockers—he’s an ogre, but I got desperate. Once I let Crabbe touch me—he’s awful, but he was there. On occasion I let Zabini pound me into his mattress, he’s decent, and comes the closest to you, but that isn’t nearly close enough and after everything my body still aches for you, and when I hear a rustle of fabric and your pants join your robes on the floor I’m almost giddy.

Two hands ghost down my ass cheeks, and I buck wildly into them. One palm darts to the center of my back and slams me down, but I’m still arching back and trembling. Whimpering. I feel our skin collide as you lean over me, draping me in your warmth and breathing over my neck. Then you bite down and I scream; I love it when you mark me.

That hand is moving again, down my crack and over my hole, you slip in without warning, but I can take you—I prepared myself before dinner, knowing I’d get this. We’re right beside all the plates and dishes, that half-eaten masterpiece cake on the other side and oddly adding to my hunger. You’re nipping and biting and sucking all over, finger stabbing in and out of me and I’m begging, “No, Daddy, just do it! _Pleasepleaseplease_...”

I can almost feel your smirk. “If you insist.”

And without any further warning, you’re slamming fully into me, finding that spot before I can cry from the pain, but another scream’s already left my lips. I shudder around you, walls caving in, pulled apart and you’re so warm. How do you always do that? Find the right place right away, mixing the torturous stabs with waves of unadulterated pleasure, making me writhe and crave you—every second that you’re not inside me I want you to be.

You pull out and take me again, finding it again and shoving me forward against the table. I’m trying to clench myself around and then relax and suck you in further, but you already go balls-deep every thrust—another achievement we couldn’t always reach with your size what it is. You feel so thick in there, you make me feel so full. But my body’s grown used to yours and you have made me such a hungry little cockslut, and even when you spell yourself impossibly wide I always take you. You’re working up a steady rhythm and I’m a sobbing mess of moans and screams, and unintelligible ramblings like, “Oh, Daddy, yes—take me harder—make me come—oh, Daddy, _please_!”

You’re fisting my hair and claiming my neck and running your hands up my pert ass and down my arching back and then finally one hand darts under me and lightly runs down my achingly hard dick. You’re smirking, again, I can tell. Your gorgeous long hair is slipping over my back, your muscled chest pressing my smaller form down into the table. “Yesss,” you hiss in my ear, much more in control than me, but still panting and feral, “You’re so hard for Daddy, aren’t you? You want Daddy to fill you with the seed that made you and make you scream and come, don’t you?”

“Yesyesyes!” I cry, curving and trembling into you. I want to mold our bodies into one. I never want this pace to end, in and out and in and out and slamming and pounding so hard I won’t be able to sit tonight, filling me completely and then making me desperately empty. My heart rate is through the roof and my head is dizzy and I still have your cum dripping out of my swollen lips as I pant and scream and sob and whimper. I’m a mess I’m a mess I’m a mess.

Then you’re fisting my cock—finally—I’m torn between bucking into your hand and bucking onto your dick. But my body’s moving of its own accord and twitching back and forth, and I have no control anyway—your powerful thrusts guide my being where you want it. Your long fingers are running over me, and the minute you take that thing off I know I’ll burst all over your hand. I’m melting anyway. I’m a smoldering pit of solidified lava, glowing and a hundred degrees. I’m louder than the roaring rain outside, the thunder doesn’t even register anymore, all I see/hear/feel is you. You dominate my senses and drive me wild and then your fingers are at my base—ohMerlin,please—take that thing off take it off fist me and make me—

One last squeeze and you release me, I scream like hell and burst all over your hand, “Daddy, ohohyes, _Luciiiuuuussss_!”

My head’s a fuzzy mess as I collapse, but you’re still pounding into me and I love it that way. Use me how you will, I’m all yours, all yours. You’re so strong, and then you flip me—I don’t know how, my legs are useless—you’re holding them up by the knees and looking down at me as you fill me up. My flagging cock bounces on my chest and my hair is still swept sideways over my face, sticky with my sweat and your cum, and my own release is painted up my chest and smeared over my leg, where your hand is holding it. My eyes are locked on yours, and my heart feels like it’ll burst right out of my skin.

It doesn’t take long like that.

A sudden roar and you hiss my name, grunt, “ _Draco,_ ” my favourite part every time. I can feel you filling me up—you’re still buried to the hilt, you pause as you pour your seed into me, and I moan while it pools inside me, and as you slowly throw a few more thrusts—milking it out, it begins to drip out of me and cover my hole. My lips are swollen and red and cum-stained, but in a minute you duck down and capture them. Your tongue slips into my mouth. I let you claim me, hungrily sucking you up on both ends. Everything’s still slowing down for me, that hazy glow slipping over, but I still... still want you...

You pull out of me, and my legs are trembling—you hold my hips and flatten down across me. This always feels so safe, so secure. So warm and so perfect. We kiss for a while, and I’m tired and lazily let you use me. I loosely wrap my legs around you and feel your wet cock slip over my skin. I’ll lick you clean when you finish with me. Your hands are getting my own seed everywhere—I’ll lick them clean too. You’re so handsome, and I’ll leave you perfect—your strong shoulders pin me down, and your fingers rake through my hair. Remembering, I break the kiss, turn my head to the side and pant, “Daddy, hands—”

You smirk and reach for your wand, flick it, and the handcuffs are gone. Quick as the outside lightening, my fingers dart for you hair and your shoulders and your defined chest, and run all over you while your mouth descends back on mine. If you keep taking me so much like this, I’ll get hard again.

Tongues are battling and liquid is dripping, and I’m so caught up with you that I don’t even realize until you pull back to glance at the window that the weather’s calmed down. You pause before placing a few more sweet kisses on my lips. Then you lean your forehead to mine, stroke my cheek with your thumb, and mutter, “We should take care of the dishes.”

I shake my head. “I still want cake.” You laugh, and I bite my lip and coyly purr, “You know I love... icing.” And I run a finger through the cum stain on your stomach, transferred from mine, and lift it back to my lips. I leisurely suck on it and wink.

Smirking, you grab me by my waist, and tug me firmly with you as you fold back into your chair. I’m forced onto your lap, and I press my hands against your strong chest to steady myself. 

You use your wand to carve out another piece of cake and levitate it over. Then you hold the plate in one hand and use the other to slice the cake with your fork and feed me like I’m a baby.

I’m your baby.

And I’m the luckiest son in the world.


End file.
